So y'all, recently I was invited to a church, one of my old high school friends, at our reunion insisted that the church was pretty nice and that the pastor was good and that it was a very welcoming environment. She had one of her church friends on the phone with us and that particular friend wouldn’t stop hyping the place up.
“It’s full of the Spirit.”
“The pastor is amazing.”
“You’ve gotta experience it.”
So I went.
It was this old building on Bienville, It looked exactly like the kind of place you assume holds folding chairs, tambourines, and testify services that shake the angels awake.
But when you stepped inside?
Studio.
Brand-new sanctuary. Screens. Lights. Tight acoustics. Musicians opening like a late-night set. Cameras rolling. Air conditioned like someone planned salvation in advance and put it on a schedule. It looked like a production, and it was executed well. No denying that.
The environment wasn’t unpleasant. It was impressive, even.
But spiritually? It felt like a backdrop.
A set waiting for actors.
A stage waiting for cues.
A sermon waiting for ratings.
The Pastor Preached, Then He Clocked Out
The pastor delivered announcements like ad reads:
Backpacks for kids ✔️
Church programs ✔️
Website-ready highlights ✔️
Then came the pivot:
“I’ve gotta be in Baton Rouge in 90 minutes for my other service!”
And just like that, exit stage right.
No lingering to meet the room.
No “tell me your story.”
No “what brought you here?”
No shepherd-with-sheep residue.
I don’t recall the sermon.
I don’t recall the scripture.
I don’t recall conviction, challenge, or even comfort.
The message didn’t land. The messenger didn’t stay.
What I do remember is the energy:
Efficient.
Marketable.
Packaged.
It felt less like a sanctuary and more like a live taping of Good Morning America with a Gospel Filter.
Faith or Franchise?
There’s nothing inherently wrong with lights, media teams, polished sound, and outreach programs. A church can be modern and spirit-filled. God never said ministry can’t have good production value.
But production cannot be the thing we feel the most.
At some point, you have to ask:
- Are we being pastored, or audience-managed?
- Are we being fed, or being filmed?
- Are we worshipping, or watching worship happen like content?
A place that invests more in being seen than felt eventually gathers spectators—not transformed people.
A place that feeds optics more than Spirit eventually breeds consumers—not congregants.
Shepherds Smell Like One of Two Things
There’s an old truth in ministry culture:
When a shepherd stops long enough to smell like the sheep, you feel it.
When a shepherd smells like spotlights and schedules, you feel that too.
No scandal, no gossip, no personal grudge—just discernment:
I didn’t feel guided.
I felt marketed to.
Two Fires According to Choctaw Teaching
There’s a Choctaw teaching that says a gathering holds two fires:
- The fire you see — the light
- The fire you feel — the warmth
That night, the lights were undeniable.
My spirit sat by the hearth holding its hands out, waiting for warmth that never came.
And That’s What Made It Hollow
People kept telling me how cool the church was.
They weren’t wrong.
It was cool.
It just wasn’t convicting.
Maybe someone else found God there. Maybe the ministry is life-changing for some. I don’t dismiss people who genuinely connect in spaces like that.
I just know this:
I didn’t come to church to feel impressed.
I came to feel connected to Spirit, to message, to people, to something older and deeper than cameras and countdowns.
I don’t need megachurch gloss. I don’t even need big screens.
I need a word that leaves fingerprints on my spirit.
I need warmth, not lighting gels.
I need to walk out changed—not entertained.
Closing Thought
If worship feels like a telethon, eventually the viewers change the channel.
If fellowship feels like film production, eventually the crew packs up and goes home.
A sanctuary shouldn’t feel curated…
It should feel consecrated.
- Leata
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